


Those who had loved

by simofthewind



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Graphic medical description, Hurt, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Sorry for hurting Jaskier but it's my favourite sport
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26695978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simofthewind/pseuds/simofthewind
Summary: Jaskier's path down the mountain leaves him with more than just a broken heart. It might prove to be just as dangerous, if not more so...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 197





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A profound thank you to Po for her precious advice, her right words, her comforting friendship. For her encouragement, her constant and dear support, and her much better grammar than mine. Thank you for your patience and for helping me in every way possible.  
> You're the best my friend, and I tip my hat to you.

The air in the room is still in the too heavy warmth of the night.

  
The light of a late evening grazes the rumpled sheets of the single bed. It plays with the dips and curves of the muscular back undulating in rhythm with the strong body sprawled underneath. His white-haired head is bent on the shoulder of the other man, his scarred forearms framing the face tossed back in pleasure, blue eyes barely visible underneath the half-closed eyelids.

  
Heavy breaths are filling the small room.

  
It’s not the first time they have sex like that. They’ve known each other for a very long time now and when coins are scarce, adrenaline too high and brothels too far, it's easier. And just as good.

  
A pale thigh is hooked higher around powerful hips, the large hand gripping and bruising the firm muscles there. Moans and deep grunts are muffled in damp skin with the speeding thrusts.

  
There’s a sudden hitch in the breath of the dark-haired man who let a “Geralt” pass his lips as sharp teeth pierce the tender skin of his neck. A long shudder echoes in his frame and he came hard in the soft cave between them. A few more punctured thrusts and the witcher tensed joining the bard.

  
As night finally settled the whispered “Yennefer” is still echoing terribly in the drying sweat of Jaskier’s neck.

  
It’s not the first time they have sex like that. It's easier. And just as good, but each time the new gash scarring his heart is a bit more difficult to ignore.

~

There’s something wrong with him.

  
An itching sort of heaviness in his lower abdomen. A weight in his chest. He is tired. Too much bad ale maybe but seeing that sorceress in the middle of the tavern and Geralt acting like a stupid enamored teenager can put a bad mood in a bard right? He disregards the nasty voice in his head telling him that the discomfort has been his travel companion for who knows how long already. And if the group could wait for him a bit by Melitele’s damned tits... he might still look as young as a new dawn thank you very much for the compliment but he is in fact not twenty anymore. He’s not a warrior, he’s not a sorceress nor a hunter. Or a dwarf. He’s just a bard for fuck’s sakes. It’s not like it was something new... Stupid mountain. Stupid fucking mountain, stupid sloping slopes, stupid dragon, stupid sorceress, stupid witcher above all. Materials for new ballads? That is if he’s not dead by the end of this horrendous journey because frankly, kindly pray tell... What kind of shortcut is three poor, rotten, fucking stupid planks of wood off a cliff?!

The Geralt ripping his throat in fear echoes terribly between the rocked walls and in the cold sweat on his back.

  
He can see the witcher tense, knotted muscles supporting the old man's weight at arm's length. He can see the kind heart being torn in two as Borch’s hands opened so slowly.

  
How would it feel to fall for so long? What would it feel like to feel the wind swirling around his body like thousand lovers’ arms, to feel its harsh voice roaring in his ears... To be free finally, to touch the sky with his feathers as a bird would do, to close his eyes and let himself go... Would his heart stop mid-air or would he live to feel his body crashing on the unforgivable hard surface of the ground bellow? He shakes his head to clear it, and tried to refocus on the path under his feet…

  
The rest of the journey is a floating memory. There’s this lump in his throat, and fatigue in his bones. There’s a strange atmosphere in the air. Never before has he felt so old. Or so empty. At one point Geralt had passed him and he has found himself closing the march once again, the group walking in front of him on the dusty track like in a hazy dream, the dying sun casting sharp reflects on the witcher’s sword.

  
Maybe it was time to step back for a time, take a deep breath in, a slow breath out. Forget the Path for a bit. He knew the truth of his heart. Deep down, he thinks he also knows the truth of Geralt’s: he knows the longing looks to the small farms on the side of the roads and to the quite life of their inhabitants. Geralt had walked on his Path for so long now but all those years didn’t manage to harden the softness that sometimes lingers in his golden eyes.

  
But their truths were just dreams, impossible and unattainable. And their dreams... Nowadays they resumed on easy coins and warm beds for a night among dozens more. How he longed to show the Witcher Oxenfurt, his very own city, the old streets and the worn-out books of humanity's knowledge. Show him that he was not a simple bard and a less than ideal travel companion but also an appreciated professor. Screw that, he didn't even need to address the letter he had received recently, they could just stay in the city for a bit. Geralt loved history and philosophy he knew it… They could explore the libraries, sit under the trees or near a calm fountain… He could show him its countryside too and from there they could head to the coast where fat sheep live happily and the sun dresses waters in glitter. And there would be plenty of sea thing monster if boredom arose…

  
As he sit down slowly next to his tired warrior he can’t stop himself from caressing the man’s face with his eyes, tracing his strong jaw, the long lashes and almost feminine cheekbones. He can’t stop the words from spilling from his mouth and he can’t stop himself when his weary voice offers his heart to the witcher capable hands…

  
He has always talked faster than his shadow and loved deeper than his darkest thoughts…

  
But hey everyone can make mistakes sometimes. A 22 bloody years-long mistake apparently. The mistake of an entire fucking stupid life. Of his entire fucking stupid life.

  
He can’t stop the bitter laugh that rises and hysterically shakes his frame and he can’t stop the dark rising bile in his throat, as he folds in half, retching against the empty feeling clinging to his soul. His clothes’ fabric is making his skin crawls, bruising him, suffocating him, the wind is squirming between each layer of fabric freezing his bones and making him shiver, the sharp stones roll and roll under his heavy feet and make his knees ache as he tries to go away, go away, faster, faster from his life collapsing on itself.

  
He needed something, something to stop the void growing under him and between his ribs. He needed a tavern. And quickly. He was planning on drinking Roach’s weight in ale. That blasted horse. Not better than her master, the grumpy beast. Except it turned out that Roach might very well be the only living creature who actually liked him. Or did she only liked the treats? Did the witcher only tolerated him for the baths and free head massages and the easy fucks and soon that came Yennefer he was of no use anymore? Oh, what an utter fool he had been, giving him all he had again and again and again, his life his youth, his music. His body. Ah, he was a bard? Ah, he prides himself on knowing human nature even. How could he had not seen it coming? All those decades worth words now bumping into each other in his throbbing skull. He wanted to scream… Rip himself apart, rip the world apart and scream, scream until the sky explodes.

  
He wipes angrily at his bleeding nose then stares blindly at the deep red painting the back of his shaking hand. Slowly he raised his other hand to his face and came back with only more red. Poppy red. Ephemeral red. Ageless red. Always the poet. Red like his doublet. He must look beautiful like this he thought idly, red on white skin with his blue eyes… There was also an awful metallic taste at the back of his throat. Funny… Was he finally dying? He laughed. Very dramatic of him he thought. Very bardic… what a masterpiece of a ballad he could have write… Looking up he saw as through a deforming piece of glass the cloudy sky spinning faster and faster then fading to black as his knees buckled under his weight…

  
He slowly regained consciousness a foul taste in his mouth. Pain behind his eyes. Something was encircling his head in an iron grip and he could feel his heart pounding loudly. He was lying on a hard surface with pointy things bruising his back, the too-bright sky blinding him. Sluggishly he tried to roll on his side and get on his knees but his abdomen violently protest against the move and he surged forward a mix of bile, saliva and blood hanging from his lips as the contractions sized him. Time stopped to exist as he stayed here hushed forwards and panting, the world spinning around him, trying to shake the cotton filling his head as though all the clouds of the sky has gathered there.

  
What the fuck was happening to him and where was he?

  
Slowly turning his gaze around, he tried to scan the area but didn't recognize a thing: he was in the middle of nowhere surrounded by tortured sick trees, rocks and dirty dry grass growing between more and more rocks. Numbly he congratulated himself for not cracking his head open on one of them...

  
He was still on that damned mountain then. Alone. There’s no way he will stay here any longer than necessary. No thanks. For that, he needed to get up... With heavy breathing and a spinning head, he slowly stood up on his trembling legs ignoring the sharp pain in his lower belly. Despite the sweat gathering at the small of his back and the occasional shivers that wracked his whole body he slowly tried to make his way down the unknown path... How many days did it take them to get up to the dragon’s den? How long did he walk before fainting, when was it, yesterday, a few hours ago? Even when the sun began to dip behind the horizon he forced his feet to carry him forwards. His shivers were now uncontrollable, his eyes tunneling on the few meters before him. He lost count of his falls after a while his scratched bleeding hands the only testimony that time was still a thing despite what his senses were numbly telling him.

  
In the small part of his brain that kept him moving forward, he could recognize that that was bad, whatever that was, that was very very bad.

  
Finally gathering the strength to lift his head he saw that he had left the dry and rocky ground of the mountain’s path for a sort of pale grass meadow, dark trees overing on his left.

  
The wind had lifted and was playing with the mossy branches making them creak and dance. Something dark with a rotten soul was living there, inhabiting the cracks and bumps of the old bark, poisoning the air, driving the trees to madness with heat. They seemed alive and angry.

  
It was terribly hot there and he tried to sweep off his brow the clammy sweat clinging to his skin, the fingers of his trembling hand tangling in his hair and tapping against his skull.

  
Tap tap. Tap tap.

  
He let his hand fall but the tap-tap goes on louder and louder, faster and faster and the trees looked angrier, creaking with the rhythm, fires roaring in his ears.

  
Tap tap.

Their trunks were moaning and crying.

Tap tap.

His heart flutters uncomfortably in his chest and misses a beat. Then another... he could feel their burning eyes following him and he could hear their cruel laugh resonate hollowly in the wind. He couldn't stop his sobs as he tried to speed up and mumbled apologies and pleas to spare him but his feet wouldn't obey him anymore.

He tripped once more.

Tap tap. Tap tap.

He could see their cold black fingers trying to reach for him. Why wouldn’t they leave him alone?

Trembling on his hands and knees he tried to stand up and yelped, his fingers twitching among the rocks to find support when the hungry mad trees surged forwards. And then their fires were devouring him, burning him and swallowing him to black.


	2. Chapter 2

When he opened his eyes once more, he found himself in a warm bed. The sheets were soft against his skin. He could feel the sturdy fabric under his oh so heavy fingertips... He shifted slightly with difficulty, trying to remember where he was, and why. There were dark trees and blood and vomit swirling in his pounding mind... Something about a dragon too, cold wind and shouts? Geralt.

Ah yes...Life and blessings. He let his head fall back heavily, breathless... If it wasn't for his dressed hands, he almost could have convinced himself his sparse memories were only the whiffs of a nightmare. Oh, Geralt. His beautiful face distorted by what could only be hatred. How hard he wanted to believe it, how hard he wanted to forget... His stomach clenched painfully, throbbing in rhythm with his head. Breath in, breath out. For now, he was here, somewhere, in a soft bed, a nice and warm smell floating in the air, hurting all over. Groaning, he managed to sit up and slowly, ran his eyes around, wincing despite himself at the soft light entering through the windows, specks of dust dancing there gently. The small room he was in was sparsely furnished. His gaze stopped on a sturdy trunk, then on a worn armchair to finally land on his lute case near the door. His lute! His only true love, his most reliable friend. Thank the gods she was here. Spotting scratches in the well-known leather he couldn't help the whine that crossed his parched lips. With a deep shuddering breath and a light head he tried to swing his legs on the dirt floor to reach for it and collapsed immediately taking the bedside table, the jug and the small bowl where his rings had been placed with him in his fall. 

The stew had been cooking steadily for the past hours when she heard the sudden exploding crash in their bedroom, her man immediately rising from his chair and frowning at her as she wiped her hands on her apron. They looked at each other for a long second before making their way to their room as quickly as possible. They didn't spend the last few days keeping the strange man alive for him to knock himself out as soon as their backs were turned.

It was nearly dark when they came back from town this evening and was it not for their old horse neighing they would have missed the slumped form on the side of the path, hidden in the kind shadow of the old trees on this side of the road. They were usually not the kind of people to rescue some drunken strangers. But this one… There were no traces of alcohol in the air. And anyway, they were way too far from any kind of habitation for him to just be a drunk. There were no weapons visible either, only a sort of leather case and what must have been fine clothes once, red now hidden by road dust and dirt. That man was tall, and it was not an easy task to pull his dead weight in the cart. His brown locks were matted and greasy and tears seemed to have tracked their way on his dirty cheeks eaten by a dark stubble. The most concerning thing was the dried blood under his nose, painting in cracks his lips and chin, and his sick pallor. That and the fact that he was burning hot and stayed completely unconscious despite the bumps and holes of the unkempt road during the rest of the journey, not a single sound or whimper passing his bloodied lips. Without the fever, the man could have been mistaken for dead.

The bath didn't break the fever but at least the man was now clean. As the water of the tub darkened around his legs it was clear that the smell of blood didn't come only from his nose and hands. They looked at each other silently. She pinched her lips, sorrow in her heart. The deep gashes on his palms were the only thing they could take care of and they tried as best as they could, old, wrinkled hands wrapping boiled strips of tissue around young ones. Then the most pressing thing was to rehydrate him but still dead to the world with a fluttering pulse point their only solution was to press a wet tissue to his dry lips. They wouldn't let this man die. They couldn't let this man die. Their duty, their patient, their burden. His life. For days, the fever wracked the now fragile frame not letting the poor man rest, and if they had to change the sheets stained by the blood oozing underneath his hips they did every time... Silently. Lips pinched. Sorrow in their hearts. And with the careful gestures ones who had once been a parent never forget.

Bursting through the door they saw the naked body curled around the lute case, bedside table on the floor, rings scattered, the water from the jug forming a dark pool underneath him... And cloudy pale blue eyes, huge and shining, staring at them.

“What the actual fuck, you should be in bed boy” and her strong man hurled the musician back to the bed, trembling arms still crushing the lute to his dark chest. “All this mess for a damned instrument, unbelievable...” “Hush Alan, that's no worry” she shushed him “give the poor lad a second to breathe, won't you”. And a shuddering breath he did take. He tried to move his lips but choked on his words when they tried to leave his parched throat and croaked painfully. She motioned to Alan and when he came back, gently, she went to sit near the man who recoiled, wariness in his pale eyes. She smiled softly to reassure him and wetted the tissue to bring it to his open mouth. Given the lack of food or drink in the last days, a mouthful would definitively make him vomit. His blues eyes fluttered as his hands bruised hers to greedily press the cloth harder to his mouth, moaning around the droplets touching his tongue. They repeated the process until finally, he managed to gaze more steadily at them, gripping tightly the case on his knees. 

“I’m a bard” he rasped slowly. 

“That we know, huh Alan? It’s a beautiful instrument you’ve got there boy, I couldn't help my old self to have a look. You know, when I was a young…” 

“Bard or not there’s really no need to make such a fuss for a piece of wood” her man groaned. Such a bear her Alan. A bear with a golden heart. Her man, her love, her life. 

“At least next time you get up you should wear a shirt, my dear" she winked and smiled at the blush trying to color his pale hollowed cheeks. 

It was clear that the man was still exhausted but there was nothing a bit of food and rest couldn’t improve. She patted his hands lightly “what do you think of a good nap and then a bit of soup Bard?”

They still couldn't fathom how a man, even if he was a bard, could find himself without coins or a pack so far on the road and so bruised. Never once did he mentioned how he found himself on this road or the origin of the blood between his legs. Never once did they ask. They were not the kind to ask questions. They didn't ask for his name either. And he did not offer it. As the days came and went more colors were returning to him and she could see that his appetite was getting stronger if only by the small bump of his belly. That made her happier than expected. He soon managed do get up by himself and then help with the house tasks. Most of the time though, his ringed fingers kept dancing lightly on the strings of his lute, his hummings gently filling the air, something old in his half-closed eyes. Some days, she could almost touch the sad aura of his soul... She wasn’t so sure anymore of his age. What she knew was that he looked good in her Alan’s clothes. She could see well-used muscles until then hidden by fatigue playing in the light of the warm rays of the late day as he helped him chop wood. His now healed hands were not the ones of a working man for sure, but he knew how to use them. He knew a lot about herbs, and he knew how to cook. He knew a lot of inappropriate words too but her old ears didn't mind them so much. She had missed another young life between their old habits. But as the days passed and he kept getting better, she couldn't help but notice his lingering looks on the dusty road or the way his gaze kept getting lost on the sky. He will leave them soon. Afterall he’s a bard. And bards travel. She would miss his warm eyes and wicked smiles that make her feel young again. She would miss Alan’s disapprobation groans when the dancing fingers of the musician settle on her waist to make her dance in the middle of the garden. She was worried though. For all his progress and how fast he had healed, she could still hear him getting sick more morning than not.

There was an old trunk in her and Alan’s home, in their room, under the window where specks of dust kept dancing. They had not opened it for years. Inside she found a well-loved sturdy coat and a pair of trousers as well as shirts her son left behind so long ago. Burying her face in the fabric she let the dust bring tears to her eyes. She let them roll silently on her cheeks. Tears for the son she had lost and for the man that for a short time was one. Feeling a calloused hand gripping her shoulder she let her head fall back against her man thigh, the shirt tight against her heart. She picked the two largest. The musician was more shouldered than a first glance might suggest, and her son had not been a man for long when they lost him. The next fair was in only a few days. They would part ways then and bid goodbye there. She would not cry then. Just blush like the maiden she once was when he would loudly kiss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for your encouraging comments on the first chapter! The next chapters will be shorter than the first one but I hope you will like this second chapter too!  
> A huge thanks to Po again for her precious help!


	3. Chapter 3

There were songs, there were cheers, pretty girls, and cheeky winks. There were sharp laughs and loud burps. How he had missed all of this, his fingers raw on the strings, blood pumping in his veins, light feet between taverns tables. Clapping hands and fists on dirty wood to carry his voice. Losing himself, alcohol spinning head. 

After leaving the peaceful home near the mountains, he had travelled from town to villages, and from villages to town, singing his way from bed to bed staying as far as possible from any mentions of monsters or witchers. Ignoring the pain in his heart, ignoring the heaviness in his belly. Ignoring the nausea that kept coming and going, and the droplets of blood he kept losing. He found broad shoulders and dark eyes, plush hips and curly hair, strong chests, small bosom perfect in his hands, hard cocks and humid breath on his skin to fill his nights with pleasure, never once allowing himself to think of amber eyes and soft white hair for too long, or how their bodies used to perfectly fit together. 

He found endless taverns happy to pay him in cheap ales. 

She was charming. Her hands had been lingering on him all evening, her malicious green eyes smiling when he winked at her after a particularly crude song. She was delicious in the darkness of the inn’s room he rented. Her perfume heavy in his nostrils when she gripped his hair and made the sweetest noises, so different from the deep and low moans that his lips and tongue used to coax. He liked how her legs felt around his hips, he liked her wandering soft hands gripping his ass, tangled in his chest hair. She was funny with a cunning mind. She was fierce and independent, and he admired that in her. There was no doubt as to who was running her father’s shop down the busy street, but she seemed content to keep a low profile. A respectable old man is better for business than a young lady, she explained during their wanderings. She knew the town perfectly and she enjoyed showing him her favorite places, the rose garden on this highest point, the almost hidden alley leading to the public baths, and the shop near the eastern gate selling delicious warm pastries. 

Despite how uneasy the city made him, he let himself grow fond of the place, of her giggles and found himself singing and staying a lot longer than intended. It was nice to feel something more than just that clinging fatigue but no matter how many times he buried his fingers in her light light red hair the hole in his soul stayed desperately gaping. 

A bright morning found them laying naked once again, her fair head on his shoulder, fingers playing with his hair, slowly drifting lower, grazing his abdomen, swirling around his navel than dancing once again on his chest. The noises of the street were a nice lullaby and he found himself gently drifting back to sleep again. A hard pinch on his soft side made him yelp indignantly and she burst in a playful laugh: “I should never have shown you the pantries shop! Look at you so round now!” she teased him, tickling him “You should slow down a bit my dear, or you will soon look like my four-month pregnant sister! Full of a bun baby, you!” “And you -pointing her finger in the center of his chest, should also slow down on the beer. You drink far too much my darling. I know you think yourself something of a poet, but it doesn't suit you. You should be careful. It was charming at first but not anymore. Besides, you’re beginning to cost me a lot and I wouldn't want the town to see me with a drunkard” she winked. Something of a poet indeed. He forced a laugh and smacked her arms which make her giggle and shoved her face in his neck. He wrapped his arms around her. She kissed the underside of his jaw, then his ear, and whispered, her hot breath making him shiver unpleasantly for the first time “I love your softness don't worry”. She got up and stretched lecherously, arms to the sky, her skin glowing in the morning. Slowly she dressed herself up, first the red hoses she tied with a simple ribbon then her undergarment a thin beige shift, and on top of it her long blue tunic. He helped her adjust the second one, in a darker shade and emotionlessly, combed her hair in the complicated fashion affectioned in this town while she tied around her waist the delicate and detailed leather belt that held her purse and a very thin dagger... Once her boots were hidden by the heavy tunics, she kissed him soundly on the mouth and bid him goodbye for the day. 

For a long moment, he stayed here, staring blankly at the wall, almost naked on the now cold bed, dread slowly feeling his mind. 

He needed a drink badly. In the almost empty room, he looked down at his trembling hands and turned them up slowly. What has his life become… who was he now? He was no longer Jaskier the Bard here. Hadn’t been since Geralt’s voice cursed his name for the last time on a lost mountain. 

With Alan and his dear lovely wife he has been Boy, Dear, Lad, Bard. He has even been Son a few times. He has been everyone and none. The ghost of a loved one that left too soon. Here he chose Alfred. Who was Alfred? A stranger staying in a not so welcoming city, paying his stay in tasteless meals, crude songs, popular jigs, and false cheer. In a way even paying his days with the nights he shared with her. 

He felt miserable. 

He shudders remembering how the two boys he once saw together at the baths were mysteriously found almost dead outside of the gates some time later, so many bruises coloring their young bodies. In this part of the Continent, he was for once lucky to have fallen in bed with Lindania and not her brother. Or her cousin. Or her father. Or the long-haired blacksmith that smelled of oil, horses and sweaty leather almost exactly like someone he wanted to forget and curl against forever at the same time. He was not even her lover: she was just having fun with him, the wild soul she was. And he with her. Alfred was a masquerade, everything he hated about himself, all Jaskier’s flaws in one man. Alcohol, laziness, talentless and meaningless music, and a desperate need to be loved. 

Who was even Jaskier… and beneath it all who was Julian? 

He curled his hands against his thighs… He was an empty shell, that what he was: the ghost of things that could have been and things that will never be. 

Did he eat more? Yes. He had always enjoyed fine food and those honey buns, Melitele! How good they were. One of his only true pleasure lately. And he was always hungry these days so why not enjoy it... 

Did he drink too much? Yes. Nothing’s better than food and alcohol to fill his inner void. And he didn't feel so miserable when he was properly wasted so that was a good thing. 

Did he have problems to lace the back of his trousers as tight as he used to? Also yes. He had gotten a bit fat around the waist. There was no use lying to himself. There was a dirty mirror in the inn’s small room thanks to which he would be able to shave in the mornings if he had any courage at all and he could perfectly see the growing bump when standing naked in front of it, and faint purple lines beginning to run on his skin. And as hard as he tried he couldn’t ignore either how his hands fit on it and how soothing the gesture was. How he was still sick in the mornings. How his nose and other...places kept bleeding sometimes. How tired he was despite the amount of sleep staying in the same place for weeks allowed. 

He did not want to go to the healer. The greasy man tending to the town made him uneasy and he didn't trust his spidery too long hands, and his pitch-black small eyes. Jaskier for all his bright, easy, voluble and some would say, vain personality was a highly educated man and his many years on the roads with Geralt had only made this vast knowledge grow. He knew so many olds tales and hoard them like a greedy dragon. Surprisingly for some, he knew a lot about the human body mysteries and how weak in front of diseases it could be. Ignoring it was his own choice. 

He slowly got up leaving the bed, feeling the wooden slats of the old floor cracked under his bare feet. The noises from the street were no longer soothing but they clashed and bounced in the silent room. Here he was, alone, when the world kept bursting with life and running in a never-ending race. 

He didn't like this room, too empty, too full of himself. The old, bruised walls, grey and eaten by humidity, the wobbly chair in a corner next to which lied his precious eternal love… He had betrayed her too in a way, hasn’t he? 

His eyes fell on the dirty broken mirror near the window. His too-big blue eyes stared back, and he felt his throat closed painfully. 

He looked sad, worn off, a scruffy stubble eating his jaws, his eyes too shiny, his skin ashen grey. Just like those damned walls. His broad shoulders were slumped, arms useless at his sides. What could she see in him was a mystery. There was a crack line in the mirror running like a scar from his right hip to his left shoulder where it splayed in every direction as if someone had hit him in the heart where his reflection stood, the shards breaking his face in a dozen different parts. 

How ironic the something of a poet he was, noticed sourly. 

So. It was time to be lucid. The need to turn his head from his own judgemental eyes burned him. The twenty years during which he had known Geralt were over. Back to the beginning. Alone. Coinless. Wanting to be anything but himself. But this time he was old and tired, goodbye the fervor, enthusiasm, and optimism of his youth, goodbye his ardent ambitions. This time he knew the world. This time something was wrong with him and it was beginning to show. He couldn't escape it now, whatever that was if Lindania noticed it others will too. 

He turned from the mirror and began to slowly dress himself up, trying to think methodically. 

He was sick since the mountain’s events or even a bit before. He couldn't recall any rumors of people being sick up there. Besides, they had not stayed long in the villages they crossed on their aimless wandering. And none here were sick or seemed to show the same signs as his either. Yet. He could remember the fever, the fainting, the blood. Those had been quite acute. Then there was the vomiting which admittedly was starting to be less frequent. The draining fatigue and the never stopping hunger. Ah and his bloated stomach he thought bitterly as he tried to lace his pants. Geralt used to place his large hands on his sturdy waist, mocking him for wearing pants that made him look thin and small. He groaned, missing their warmth, and tightened the lace harder to stop his thoughts, the fabric biting his flesh. From his symptoms, it looked like he managed to get a parasite type of thing that was now growing and eating him from the inside. In those mountains maybe, who knows what disgusting things lived in this rotten place… he did eat some berries in this unknown landscape after the Hirrika event. Or did he? His memories were foggy at best. He wasn't sure anymore. He was not afraid of dying and even with all that happened in the past months he did live a rich life. Even a happy one in many ways. No, he was way more afraid of being in pain but strangely for all his discomfort and numbness he was actually not hurting so terribly. So why not try to determine which kind of disease he might have contracted and find a cure. Or not. He had nothing more to lose after all. Well, apart from his life. 

He stayed some days more in this small city but he couldn't stand the lingering glances anymore, couldn’t stand the whispers that were not really whispered anymore when he performed, couldn’t stand Lindania lips on him, her hands on his belly or the remarks she kept whispering on his skin, hidden behind laughter and bites... 

The sort of content if not happy bubble of the past months at the foot of the mountains, in the care of the old couple, and in the arms of this city has violently burst, leaving behind a sour taste in his mouth. 

He felt trapped, asphyxiated. 

He couldn’t stay here so near those ill mountains and in this narrow-minded town any longer. But where to go? There was no place for him, no home, no wife or husband to come back to, no child to run towards. Even if they often spend months apart from each other, his life had been with his witcher for the past twenty years. Maybe he could settle in another more welcoming town, or... Or back to the beginning… That was the plan used to be, Before. With a bit of luck, the letter could still be found at the bottom of his lute case. Scrunched like his heart felt but still whole. 

Oxenfurt will be a safe place for him. He loved the city where he learned who he wanted to be. Maybe he could find his way back to himself there. He could teach again and help young and ambitious musicians erase his name from the Continent and replace it with theirs. 

In Oxenfurt there will be books and rolls about the Continent’s various pests and diseases, and time to study them. Oh, he was by no means a healer but by the gods, he has his fair share of knowledge. 

In Oxenfurt there will also be long robes to hide his body until he finds a solution or at least an answer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Hope you like this one!  
> Thank you so much for your nice words, I treasure each and every comments or kudos <3  
> An eternal thank you to Po once again...
> 
> The next chapter(s) will leave our dear bard for a bit to focus on another important character!  
> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](https://simeramise.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

Yennefer of Vengerberg was in Oxenfurt, the university city. So full of life, crowded with merchants, horses, carts, colorful shops, hidden streets, stairs leading to old walls or, if you were lucky enough, on tiny squares in the middle of which an old tree might be dozing quietly. So full of students, so full of taverns and brothels. So alive and wonderfully decadent. 

She hated it. 

As everyone here she was none and everyone, incognito and way too visible, lost in this giant and bubbling anthill, its queen the ancient walls of the university herself, her old buildings overlooking the city from their hills casting her inhabitants and their life in her warm shadow. 

Aretuza had one of the most furnished libraries of the whole continent and there were wonderful private collections littered in noble houses through the land, hidden away in temples and monasteries but none compared to Oxenfurt tall arches filled with century-old books and rolls. The most obvious ones about chaos and magic were obviously safely tucked in Aretuza but Yennefer knew the power and truth lying between the lines of old tales and bardic poetry. She had spent enough time with Geralt’s irritating bard to know that. 

“Oye!” An angry voice interrupted her thoughts, and she jumped backward to avoid the wine barrel wobbling heavily in front of a huffing and puffing man, his fat and red face shining with dirty sweat. With difficulty, she managed to keep her features devoid of any frown of repugnance. “Move away Woman, you’re in the middle of the road. Some of us actually need to work. Who do you think will win between your pretty little feet and” he sniffed and blew his nose with his sleeve, and slapped soundly the barrel with the flat of his hand “the sturdiest barrels of this side of the Pontar, huh?” 

“Those women… always empty-headed” he grumbled, entering through a low porch, his precious parcel joining its brothers resting against the mossy wall at the back of the small courtyard. 

For a moment, she looked at him swearing against his apprentice, then shook her head. She was there for a good reason and way too irritated by the constant buzz of the city to waste her time on a grumpy innkeeper. It was not for a lack of want, though. 

“Oye! You, yes you, you careless woman. You’re not from there right? You don't look like a student to me, nah, too old. And too well dressed. And you’re not a merchant either, I can see that perfectly well. I have a nose for that you know! I know people, heh what do you want! that’s my job afterall. You look like a fine girl, is what I say, I know what I’m talking about.” He wiped his chubby hands on his dirty apron slowly looking her up and down. This time she looked at him with barely concealed disgust. “If you need a place to rest, my noble establishment is open to you...” With a sly grin full of crooked teeth, he spread his arms wide, revealing the large brown halos decorating his shirt, showing her the dark door of his establishment and all the while blocking her the road. She offered a flat smile, bowed her head slightly, and took a step to her right. The innkeeper mirrored her. A step to the left, same reaction... What the hell? “I must insist! You won't regret your decision Woman!” he winked. He winked?! 

Well, apparently she wouldn’t be able to cut through. 

Peasant. 

She was tired and in no mood to play with this man. 

She rolled her eyes and let her aura darken, her gaze harden, and a soft wind play with her hair. 

To anyone else, there was nothing there to see but a quiet courtyard with warm beige walls eaten by patches of moss, a respectable (at least on his terms) innkeeper chatting amiably with one of the many travellers inhabiting the city for a few hours or a few years. And so none sensed the change in the atmosphere. Maybe an attentive eye sharp enough could have witnessed the red shade of the man’s face paled slightly as more sweat gathered on his forehead. But none paid attention apart from a solitary bird and to the external eye, the scene looked as normal as dozens of others in any corner of the city. 

“The University library please?” she calmly asked, dangerous darkness surrounding her. 

He lost his words, halted and stuttered again, casting her a worrying glance “The University library, my lady? Which one my lady?”. The man paled further, fidgeting under her gaze “Of course, of course my lady. The main library, yes? You’re in one of the right streets my lady, you just have to follow it a tiny bit more and She’ll be just in front of you, you can't miss her my lady ...” 

He tried a shallow smile, but she sighed and shut his voice out. She took a deep breath looking at the street that climbed laboriously between various shops and tightened her fist on her dress. One more push and she’ll be up there. 

Follow it a tiny bit more. Follow it a tiny bit more and She’ll be in front of you, my lady. How many a tiny bit more exactly were needed for her to be in front of Her. How many different courtyards, arches, to walk by to find the main entrance of the main library? If possible, her mood had increasingly darkened and she was positively fuming against the city and her ancient architects, cursing them all, one after the other, in her head. She was so very close to abandoning for the day and finally find a nice, clean and plush bed to fall headfirst into when she saw a group of students with stacks of books under their arms make their way while laughing way too loudly, in yet another tavern of the elvish city. She sighed. Again. She was close then. Close enough to search tomorrow she decided out of the blue. The library won't disappear over the night and the promise of a bed was definitively winning over anything else. 

Unsurprisingly, it was not hard to find an inn. She wasn't so unlucky after all and after a more than decent warm meal, she let herself sink in the hot water of a bath, scrubbing off the dirt and bad memories of the day, then between the soft covers of the dark wooden bed and finally in the ever-loving arms of the night. 

* * *

In the following days, she began to dig through the different public libraries, sometimes walking aimlessly between the shelves, caressing the dust gathered on some of them, sometimes scribbling dark numerous sheets of parchments, but never truly finding what she was searching for, what she travelled all this way for. Even in the dark calm of the alleys, between nice meals, and a healing bed, her restless heart didn't manage to fully settle. With that, during the last few days, she had had the lingering sensation to be spied upon... but apart from the lone students bent over their own research nothing seemed amiss. 

She clicked her tongue with annoyance. Another day and still nothing really worth it. She shut the book she was consulting making a nice layer of dust swirl around her. She left one more the comfort of yet another arched room, her heels clicking on the large tiles to cross the green garden with its neat paths and elegantly sculpted corridors grazing its square flanks. In one corner a small group of colorful people was gathered, whispering and hushing themselves wildly in turn. 

Way too many colors. 

It looked vulgar. 

She enveloped herself tighter in her deep grey cloak and walked down one of the corridors to reach a couple of stairs leading to a smaller courtyard where, once spring here, a fountain would be singing happily. At this time of the year, however, it was desperately silent. Maybe for the best. She was very not in the mood. 

Hurried footsteps echoed from afar to abruptly stop behind her. She sighed. What was it now? 

“Excuse us, Madam...” 

Her gaze left the empty fountain and she turned around slowly. Her temper was definitively running short. To her surprise, it was not for once another librarian reminding her to put back the books at their right place or to wipe off the mud from her boots before entering, but the colorful group with all of its members. 

Students, if she had to believe the youth of their eyes.

One of them took a step forward, leaving the circle of his friends who all looked embarrassed, not really meeting her eyes. 

“Madam, he said with a tentative smile, please forgive us for addressing you in such an undignified manner both to your rank and our education.” He threw a look to his companions and took a deep breath “I’ll be short my lady for we do not wish to bother you. It has come to the attention of one of my friends that your natural elegance and your beauty as well as your powerful aura could be one of a sorceress. My friend here said they thought they recognize you for having helped one of their neighbor with an, let said, intimate problem and... 

“Is this a joke?” she spat, her surprise to see them rapidly changing back to annoyance. 

He bowed his head “No Madam, a favor...” 

“For you?” She looked him up and down “you seem a bit young for having those kinds of problems” 

“Please hear our complaint. We spend a long time observing you from afar the past days and we’re convinced you are indeed a powerful mage and not one of those magicians that bloom on the dirty roads of the land to trick children with cards and ribbons.” 

She snorted and shook her head in disbelief... 

“You see it’s not in our habits to spy on people or look into other people’s business...” 

“To the point Roland” one of the brunets cut him off, “you said you were going to be short. I told you all we should have chosen someone else to speak. I say he’s nothing but empty big words like his balls are...” 

“How dare you? Repeat that, you miserable buffoon!” 

“Why? Are you deaf as well as impotent?” 

“That’s quite enough boys! Do I have to remind you we’re on business here? What impression are we giving because of you two? Keep your utter nonsense for the taverns and shut the fuck up!” 

A petite woman with dark skin and kind eyes dressed in a deep green dress sneaked to the front of the group. 

“Madam, if you are indeed a mage we most ardently need your help. One of our professors, one of the best teachers we ever had, is, well,... I wanted to say is ill but,...we don't really know. The thing is, something is very wrong with him."

"He’s not a permanent member of the Academy but almost every year he gives a few lectures during winter, usually until Early Spring comes with her green feet and new Sun. This year though, he seems like a completely different man. It’s true that we don't know him well, but... we’re very worried. It’s hard to see at first. Some days he is the same as always, charming as ever. But some days... he looks weak, almost fragile you see? As if a too strong wind could knock him off his feet which is very unsettling for a man of his stature. Last time, Roland here, saw him in one of the inside courtyards leaning heavily against a wall, completely breathless, folded in himself... He rushed to help him and found him burning up, as hot as red coal! But instead of accepting his help...” 

“He pushed me away and looked at me, eyes so big, like he was afraid of me! He told me everything was alright, but I could see perfectly well that it was really not the case!” 

“Roland is a bit of a teacher pet, so he was very distressed by the situation - I'm not! - You are, now let me talk. The thing is that it was not the only time this kind of... discomforts happened. I too, was the witness of another, but this time he actually let me help him with his books and I guided him back to his room. I never saw him so tired. He was paler than a sheet." 

“What? But, but... you never said?” 

“Will you finally shut up now? Madam, those episodes of weakness are not the only strange things. Each detail is very minor but put together... For once he used to wear colorful clothes and as you see we followed his example. The world needs more joy. He now wears the strict and dark robe of the Professors. He doesn't come to the taverns anymore nor to the hall diners as he used to. He’s very often seen in the medical sections of the libraries, or in the plant districts. And well, everyone here likes a bit of alcohol, we’re students after all, but one day he gave one of his lectures drunk. Oh, we were just a few to notice - she cast an eye to her companions, worrying her hands, but nonetheless... It has never happened before and never again after that as far as we know. He is as good and kind as ever and his classes are still as interesting as always but well, he seems to have closed off and the professor we loved so much is now a phantom in his own city. -She took a deep breath and let her shoulder fall. He used to travel a lot and we’re afraid he might have been cursed during one of his journeys.” 

“We don't have much to pay you but please Madam, if you could help us and help him. You’re our only solution, our last resort” there was a plea in her voice now. “We don't know what to do or how to help him without being too forward and we thought you could observe him a little and find out the curse and maybe talk to him a bit? Just to see if things really are as dire as they seem?” 

“We have this stone here. We know it doesn't seem like much... But it’s an ancient stone that is said to hold a True Power. It is for you if you help us.” 

One of the girls of the group then detached from her belt a small leather purse closed by a thin black and gold cord. She clutched it for a second, then handed it to Yennefer. 

She eyes them all for a moment then, slowly, opened the purse and dropped into her open palm a perfectly oval stone, blacker than a crow's feather in a moonless night, only interrupted by a fine white line scarring its smooth surface. She stretched her arm to the sky to make it shimmer in the sun, admiring the way the stone seemed to swallow the pale rays of light instead of reflecting them. 

Pretty rock. 

“Fine, she dropped it in her pocket, I’ll maybe think about it”. “Who’s this man again?” 

“Professor Pankratz Madam” 

“Mister Pankratz” 

“Oh, thank you so much it’s Pankratz Madam” they all rushed to say, hope shining bright in their young eyes. 

The name rang vaguely familiar. 

Well, a pity for them, they lost their nice stone. She looked at them, their trembling hands and relieved smiles. 

How naive they were... it was almost charming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always a big thank you to my wonderful Po, her keen eyes and lovely words.
> 
> I hope you'll like this slower chapter, dont hesitate to leave a little comment with your thoughts in it ;) I'll be delighted to read it!  
> Lastly, and I'm really really sorry for that, the story will stop here for a bit. Uni workload is heavier than I thought and I can't quite keep up anymore. I have a true hope that once I manage to be more organized I will be able to return to it, more fully and happily... In the meantime, I apologize deeply...
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](https://simeramise.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I-is it a new chapter? Yes indeed! Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments, getting those sweet ao3 emails really warmed my heart during these last difficult weeks. A special very very warm thank you for those leaving comments, I recognize your name and cherish them.  
> This chapter will be unbetaed for once, all mistakes are mine (and grammarly's ;) ).  
> We're still following Yennefer in her stay in Oxenfurt!  
> See you at the bottom!  
> Enjoy?

How she hated to use her name to have her way where and with who she wanted...

The days passed quickly and calmly in the always moving city. Yennefer was almost beginning to enjoy her stay as some of her strength was beginning to return. She could feel chaos humming and buzzing softly all around her, still inaccessible, but there nonetheless. Its presence, warm and welcome, fleeting like a singing river between her gloved fingertips. Oxenfurt has been an important elvish city and was still thrumming of their ancient power, slowly, deeply, like the heart of a giant sleeping earth whale. Calm and powerful. It felt strange, unsettling. Wonderful. 

She dressed slowly, enjoying the pale sun on her dark skin, and the warmth of her breakfast in her belly. Her plan for the present day was to continue to explore the different libraries and particularly one of the most ancient section that had caught her eyes the previous days, hidden at the back of one of the many halls, behind high shelving in precarious balance ... A nice, easy plan until she found out that the access was limited and the librarian guarding the entrance a moron. 

Oil lamps were casting their warm glow on the walls, hiding the round entrance into a welcoming darkness. The heavy door was open but a loose and seemingly useless dark blue cord was blocking the corridor. A messy desk was sat there, on the right of the opening, defending it quietly. 

“Look, I see you want to do your job well. It’s all for your honor. You must not see a lot of people here? How inconsiderate of your superiors to make you stay here in the darkness all day, it’s not good for your vision, that. I would like to see them at your place. They wouldn't stand an afternoon I bet. My poor man, I guess you’re not paid much right? I’m sure it’s a bit boring in the end... I would be bored for sure! You know I could help you a bit with that. If you want of course... You let me have a look and while I’m here, I’ll watch over the entrance and you can go take a walk to the nearby tavern or brothel. It’s on me! I won't tell a word to your superiors. What do you say about that? Deal?” 

“I’ve happily married, Mistress, thank you for your kind attention. As I told you this section of the library is restricted to visitors with an authorization written and signed by a professor of the Academy or the headmaster, and only them”. 

“Fine, fine. Being married has never stopped a man to go visit the ladies” she grumbled under her breath, “but fine!”.  
She smiled sweetly. “You don't even have to leave your seat. I’ll give you the money and you will be very nice and close your little eyes for me...” 

“No authorization, no entry. It’s written just here. And if you’re visiting a library I’m sure you’re plenty able to read, aren’t you, Mistress?.” 

The man was more of a stubborn donkey crossed with a bear than a bookworm. Shame. A worm could easily be crushed under her boot. A donkey on the contrary... She barely managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She needed to enter, the bearded mountain in front of her be damned. How could someone be so attached to the rules was beyond her, he was clinging to them worse than a famished leech on the weak animal daring to cross its swamp. 

“My good sir. I am but a humble traveler. I heard the beauty of Oxenfurt and her libraries be sung in all the corners of the Continent. Unfortunately, I have elongated my stay between those praised-by-the-gods walls for too long and I fear I must return to the roads soon..." Gods, she disgusted herself. Geralt’s bard would be so proud of her. "Would you please, let me have a look? You can of course walk with me and show me all those wonders yourself if you don't trust me with your treasures” She gave him her best smile, the one that didn't quite reach her eyes but sculpted a charming dimple near her mouth.

“It would be my pleasure, Mistress...” 

“Capital! I knew you were a man of reason...” 

“Once you have your authorization.” 

“Blasted bollocks! What do you want to let me pass, by the Gods!?” 

“An authorization, Mistress” 

“I don't have one!" 

“A pity, Mistress.” 

“Are you mocking me?” she hissed coldly. 

“I wouldn't dare Mistress. I can only encourage you to obtain an authorization if you so desire to visit this section.” 

“Or I could come at night” 

“You could, but you will find one of my colleagues here and they would tell you the same as I do.” 

His calm was making her see fire. The nerves of that man, that scum of the earth… She took a deep breath to try to calm herself. Fine. If she needed to use her name so be it, she would. 

“Do you only know who I am? I am Ye...” 

“I don't care who you are, Mistress. You could be the ghost of Queen Calanthe, the Lioness of Cintra herself I would not care. It’s very simple when you think of it. No authorization, no entry.” 

She fisted her hands. Chaos swirling around her, whispering of violence in her ears. She closed her eyes and spoke very slowly: 

“Very well. A professor you said?” 

“Or the headmaster, yes, Mistress.” 

“Any professor?” 

“Any of the Academy, Mistress.” 

“Fine. I’ll come back.” 

“With pleasure, Mistress. Have a beautiful stay in Oxenfurt, until we meet again may the Gods be kind to you.” And he bowed his head slightly, a smirk playing behind his beard, before returning to his task.

Have a beautiful day… Rot in hell more like. She was still fuming as she walked down the gardens and in the streets, and still cursing on his life and all his ancestors and lineage with it, in every language she knew when she reached her room. 

She flopped on the plush bed and rolled on her side, kicking her shoes off, sending them waltzing across the room as noisily as she could. She needed to find a professor now. That shouldn’t be too hard. To find one and more importantly convince them to write her this damned authorization. That, could be a bit more tricky if everyone in the city was as stubborn as the librarian. She needed to think of something. 

The bed was indeed plush. Soft and comfortable. Clean white sheets and a heavy kilt neatly folded each morning at the foot by the small hands of the inn. Between the meals, the baths, and the room services, she had definitively chosen the perfect inn. This time however she was unable to find a pleasant position, turning and tossing around. Something was pressed against her thigh, digging into her flesh, bruising her tender skin. She huffed with impatience, sat up to wiggle out of her cloak, cursing loudly against the fine woolen fabric. 

It fell on the wooden floor with a deep thud. 

Intrigued she bent down over the dark sculpted frame of the bed and began to rummage in her pockets. Finally, her fingers closed around something round and smooth, something emitting a soft warmth against her palm. With a steady hand, she retrieved it slowly then sat more fully on the bed, unfolding her legs to plant her feet firmly on the ground, the rock now laying on her knees, its blackness gently absorbing the light around it. 

She had completely forgotten it. 

How? How many days had passed since she had it? Since she had met the colorful students and their shining worried eyes? 

Yennefer raised her head as a dangerous smile bloomed on her lips, her fingers wrapped tightly around the stone.

She had her professor now.

**Author's Note:**

> I had one scene in my head many months ago and from there, I decided to try to build a story. There were highs and lows and many doubts... But we're here to try new things! So tadaaa...  
> I know the general direction I want to take and several chapters are already written so the first updates will be regular and I will do my best to keep it that way.  
> I hope you will enjoy this little adventure...
> 
> Comments are gems treasured for the centuries to come...  
> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](https://simeramise.tumblr.com/)


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